


i have been here many times before

by 1sleepydormouse (AlderBee), AlderBee



Series: saturnine [3]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Anxiety, Gen, References to Depression, Suicide Hotline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:45:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlderBee/pseuds/1sleepydormouse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlderBee/pseuds/AlderBee
Summary: Don’t keep these feelings to yourself.Take hope.





	i have been here many times before

_ Promise not to do anything right now. _

_ Avoid drugs and alcohol. _

_ Make your home safe. _

_ Don’t keep these feelings to yourself. _

_ Take hope. _

The steps, recommendations, shone like a cold beacon from his laptop screen. 

In essence, all of the websites he spent the last ten minutes googling had the same thing to say. 

_ Talk to someone you trust. _

_ Get out into the sun.  _

_ Exercise. _

_ Keep a safety plan. _

_ Avoid being alone. _

_ Breathe. _

At this moment, it took Jughead everything he could to keep his breath steady and strong. 

Methodically, he turned the words on the screen into a mental checklist. It seemed like a good way to start, so he started at the top.

_ Promise not to do anything right now. _ That was easy enough. Most of Jughead’s friends, and his own parents, tended to see Jughead as a lazy teenage boy. If there was a way to get what needed to be done in the least amount of steps, he was totally down for it. Doing nothing was as easy finishing an entire carton of ice cream on his own. Mental check mark.

_ Avoid drugs and alcohol _ . Sure. Mental check mark.

_ Make your home safe. _ Both of his parents were asleep. Hotdog was sound asleep at the foot of his bed. Turning in his seat, Jughead glanced at the sight of Jellybean, tucked into his blankets, a pair of his wireless headphones snug around her ears, playing a classical music playlist on low. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her. Their home was safest at night when everyone was dreaming. Quiet and calm. Check.

_ Don’t keep these feelings to yourself. _ And there was the fucking roadblock. Jughead was fully aware of his success and failings. He was a pro at eating and being there for his friends and being the best fucking big brother to ever live. He flourished in writing and reading, and he wasn’t a pretty bad swimmer.

He  _ excelled  _ at internalizing his problems. Jughead had always been able to ignore most of the major events of his life. It was never worth bothering people with what was probably a handful of trivial problems. Jughead knew that if he was just stronger or better able to compartmentalize, none of his problems would really be problems. Just nuisances. Things that would cause others to roll their eyes at him and tell him, “Really? That’s what’s been bugging you?”

Jughead couldn’t stomach the thought.

He was the cool guy of the group. The most level-headed. There was no way that he was going to jeopardize that.

Even over something like this.

So, yeah. Jughead couldn’t confidentiality check off that box. Couldn’t move on to  _ having hope _ , knowing that there were other people in the world with  _ these kinds of thoughts _ , and still managed to wake up the next day.

Other people.

Some people.

Not all people.

Jughead’s brain skipped like a record, thinking of the average of 123 people who don’t wake up (googling statistics was another insomniatic hobby).

This didn’t happen very often. Maybe once every few months.  He wasn’t quite sure why tonight felt harder than any other. Sure things were not great, but he was always able to handle the stresses and expectations of the day.

The strength of Jellybean’s grip around his arm. The volume of vitriol in his parents’ voices as they argued. The intensity of the stench of alcohol that followed his father’s form like a ghost. The hint of pity in Archie’s eyes when he turned down another hangout at Pop’s so that he could go home and make sure that Jellybean and Hotdog were being fed.

It was all the same. The loneliness, the anger and disappointment.

Nights that felt long and endless. It was hard to see the light at the end of the hallway. The point when things got better. Happiness.

Jughead was having a hard time finding happiness.

He couldn’t remember the last time he looked up at the sky and found himself grateful for being alive. Excited for the next thing.

Even playing video games with Archie or getting a free milkshake from Pops didn’t feel the same. Like chores.

Jughead sometimes wondered how he would do it. Drown in a bathtub? Hang himself in his closet? He would walk out of the house right now and throw himself off a building or a bridge.

A gun? (His parents didn’t keep one in the house.)

Slit his wrists? (Hm . . . maybe his home wasn’t as safe as he thought.)

He thought about the stash of sleeping pills in his mother’s medicine cabinet. ( _ Avoid drugs and alcohol, Jughead. Remember the list.) _

With a sigh, Jughead leaned back in his desk chair.

Man, everything hurt. His joints, his bones, his skin. 

Everything.

Lifting a heavy arm, he pulled his cellphone out of the pocket of his hoodie. Bringing the smartphone to his face, the screen lit up, a phone number already entered into the call field. All he needed to do was press call.

What was the worst that could happen?

What if this helped?

Jughead glanced back one more time, making sure that Jellybean and Hotdog were still asleep. Sitting back up, he pressed the call button and held the phone to his head, curling forward just a little to give himself some privacy.

There was a moment of panic, irrational fear that someone he knew would answer the phone-

The click was deafening, the split second of silence endless.

“Thank you for calling the National Suicide Prevention Hotline. My name is Betty and I am here for anything you need.”

The voice was soft, kind. A woman . . . maybe around his age, it was hard for Jughead to get a grasp of it. After so many hours of silence and his own thoughts it was jarring to suddenly hear the voice of another. “Uh . . . hi.”

So fucking articulate. Jughead wanted to hang up.

“Good evening,” the voice immediately, Betty, replied. “How are you doing tonight, sir?”

Jughead flinched, feeling  _ something _ when addressed as “sir.” He didn’t like it . . . but-

“Is this . . . where is this call calling into? I mean, what state?”

“I’m located in New York City,” she responded without hesitation. “I’m actually one of the few who takes calls from home. So, I’m not in a call center where others can over hear. I promise that this is completely anonymous.”

“So, this is your personal phone?” Jughead latched onto that oddity, not quite ready to talk about why he was calling in the first place. “How does that work?”

“Well, before your phone call gets to me, it is received through an automated call center. Calls made during my shift are immediately routed to my phone. This way, I don’t have your phone number and you don’t have mine. Instead the call center’s number registers on our records so that it’s completely anonymous. It protects both of us.”

“And what if you weren’t available?”

“We sign up for shifts in twos. If I were busy, there is another person that’s supposed to get any overflow. So no matter when you call, you will always get someone.”

“Completely random.”

“Completely.”

“Oh.” The feeling to hang up had passed, but Jughead didn’t feel ready to carry the conversation. “So, New York. I’ve never been there.”

“To the city or the state?”

“Both. I don’t, I haven’t had a chance to travel really.”

“Oh! Well, it’s definitely an interesting city to live in. I’m actually a student here, so I get to enjoy NYC living while being impoverished.”

The small laugh surprised Jughead, tingling in his chest pleasantly and warming his limbs. “I can imagine.”

“Well, it was my decision to come here anyway. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d ever make it here. High school felt so long!”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It does feel long.”

Betty paused for a moment, her voice softening. “Would you like to talk about it?”

There was a lot more that Jughead wanted to say. Some of it had nothing to do with him. Others . . . the rest of it . . .

There was so much to say, and finally a listening ear. Someone who will listen as long as he needs, to talk about all of the irrational anxiety and stress that have been compacting everything under his skin for days upon weeks upon months. 

There was so much he wanted to say, and  _ no idea how to start _ . 

Betty remained silent on her end, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Jughead wished that he had  _ fewer thoughts _ to gather. It was all so overwhelming, so much to feel. He wanted to express it all. The anger, the confusion, the sadness. Jughead wondered - if he were capable of it - what it would be like if he just sobbed into the receiver for an hour, just gasping breaths and unintelligible babble until he felt empty. 

How would that feel?

How would it feel to be anything besides  _ exhausted. _

And just like that, “I’m tired.”

“Hm,” Betty hummed, sounding sympathetic and understanding. “You sound a little more than tired. Sounds like you’ve been pretty drained for a while.”

“Uh, yeah. I, well, I guess that’s true. I mean, shit.” Jughead chuckled to himself, running his fingers over his face. “Yes. You’re right. I’ve been dead tired for a while. It’s, it’s starting to get to me.”

“Well, tell me a little bit about what’s been causing this. Anything you want. Nothing is too small or insignificant.”

And with that permission, all of Jughead’s hesitation washed away. He lost track of time against the flow of words pouring out of him. Feeling indescribably alone despite being surrounded by people who needed him all the time. Wondering if the heaviness that kept him right below the surface would ever let up so that he could just  _ take a fucking breath for himself. _

On the other side of the line, Betty didn’t say a word, her breaths deep and focused, a small noise of sympathy dotted throughout. 

Before he knew it, Jughead was talking about life beyond high school. Admitting that he didn’t know if he even  _ could  _ allow himself to contemplate a life away from his little sister. His parents’ marriage would surely implode the moment he left these walls. How would that affect Jellybean? Wasn’t it his responsibility as the oldest brother to make sure that she was going to be alright?

The way he saw things now, there wasn’t much a future available to him that he had any control over. In fact, there wasn’t much a future at all.

And that terrified Jughead.

“So here I am,” he began to wind down, his throat feeling dry. “Googling tips to get rid of suicidal thoughts, and making a mental checklist of all the ways I can just make all of this stop.” Shame welled up in his chest, hollowing his cheeks. “And I don’t even think that’s really what I want.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t, I don’t want to . . . to die.”

“That’s really good to hear.” Betty’s voice was completely clear of judgment, filling some of the hollowness in Jughead. “From what you’ve told me, while there are many people who have not done the best in making you feel as supported and loved as you make them feel, it’s very clear that you mean a lot to them. You are such a good and strong person. It’s just really hard for people to realize or even  _ believe  _ their self worth when you aren’t receiving any positive affirmations from those we love.”

Jughead breathed, struggling to grasp her words. “But, it shouldn’t, I shouldn’t have to  _ need that.  _ I know that what I do is for the good of those I care about.”  _ This is what men do _ went unsaid.

“That’s not true at all.” Betty replied, her voice firm, willing him to believe her. “You are human. Human beings require love and affirmation. S-, You are not an endless spring of selflessness. You can only give up so much of yourself before you go empty . . . before you reach the emptiness that you feel now.”

“Jughead.”

A surprised pause. “Excuse me?”

“My name,” he cleared his voice. “It’s Jughead.”

The disbelief was palatable, and he could just barely hear Betty’s stunted breathing, like she was trying to silently stifle her laughter. “O-Okay,  _ Jughead _ ,” she managed. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Jughead turned his head to cough self-consciously away from the receiver. Jughead was his name, born of an inside joke he and Arch had come up with when they were practically toddlers. To his friends and family, it was as normal as the color of his eyes or the beanie he wore on his head.

To a stranger, someone he had never even met in person before, it must sound like the worst kind of cover name. Out of all the fake names out there, who would pick Jughead?

He remembered. Hating the sound of his own name, and picking Jughead as his new one. All of three or four and justified in his final decision. He remembered Archie’s casual acceptance, the high-five he received for the “coolest name ever.” The ease with which his family and friends accepted the new label as a new-permanent-part of Jughead’s identity.

Warmth filled him.

“Well, Jughead,” Betty’s voice brought him back to the present. He found that he liked the cadence in which she spoke his name. “I want to thank you for calling me tonight. Thank you for sharing your story.”

“Uh-”

“And I really do mean it. I only know you from what you’ve told me, from the pain I can very clearly hear in your voice. The emptiness and sadness that you feel, Juggie? It’s all valid. 100%. You are no less of a man for what you feel, and the fact that you stepped out on a ledge like this, called a complete stranger to release your inner demons, makes you so brave and strong.”

Jughead stared blankly at his black computer screen, a fuzzy outline of his reflection looking back at him.

“You are such a good person,” she breathed. “I’m glad that I share the same earth with you. I’m glad that you are alive.”

Jughead didn’t realize that he was crying until he felt the warmth pooling around the wrist that held his phone. His eyes and nose were stinging as he shivered, alone in his computer chair, body wracking with silent sobs that hurt his throat. The sharp breaths from his nose echoed down the receiver of the phone, to Betty, the only person in the world who witnessed the release of his exhaustion, his sadness, his  _ relief. _

“I’m-” It was so fucking hard to talk. Jughead gasped between sobs, trying to compose himself. “I’m glad, I’m glad I’m alive, too.”

Betty’s responding laughter was thick, like she was crying right along with him. “Yes. You are alive. And you are loved.” She paused, letting Jughead compose himself. “But, I want you to know, that you need to be reminded. We all do. So when this happens again-”

Not if. When.

“You can try to talk to your friends or your parents. You can even talk to Hotdog. Anyone to let them know how you are feeling. And if you still don’t feel ready for that? Well, you can always call this number. I promise that someone will always answer and remind you that  _ you _ , Jughead, are worthy of love and admiration and the world is better with you in it. There is a future for you. It’s hard to see right now, but I can promise you that there is something magical waiting for you out there.”

Eyes closed, cheeks cooling from drying tears, Jughead cradled her words close to his heart. He wished that he could record this, record Betty’s voice and just play it back to himself over and over again. It felt terrifying, mortifying, the thought of having a conversation like this with his family or friends. Archie would listen. As bird-brained as he was, as girl-crazy as he was, Archie would listen. Probably hug him and cry (because that’s what Archie does).

It was terrifying, but Jughead felt a little bit like he was maybe looking forward to talking to his friend. Having a heart-to-heart. It could be nice.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the darkness. 

Thank you for listening.

Thank you for keeping me alive.

Thank you for saving me.

“It is my absolute pleasure,” she whispered back.

The truth of her words lit up his bedroom and cast the night away.

He was alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Angst prompt, suicide hotline AU. Title of the fic was pulled from Sia’s “Breathe Me.” I don’t think I’ll ever NOT associate these two with a song when I write! XP


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